


J'aime Bien ton Mots Coquins

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Marco Bott, Dirty Talk, French Jean Kirstein, French-Speaking Jean Kirstein, Language Kink, Lots of it, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Pastel Jean, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Scratching, Top Jean Kirstein, Wall Sex, gift for 'nilla, jean likes to play with em, marco laughs when he bottoms, marcos got a lot of piercings, newly discovered kinks, not a lot though?, only just a little plot, punk marco, twitchy marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4715174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new french restaurant that just opened up and Jean wants to show off his French speaking skills, which Marco wholeheartedly enjoys.</p><p>Needless to say, Jean's whispering them in his ear later, but with considerably less clothes on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	J'aime Bien ton Mots Coquins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CURUS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CURUS/gifts).



> I was *this* close to calling it "Talk Frenchie to Me". Instead I went with what I hope is French for "I like your dirty talk". Google translate isn't always right...
> 
> I am the secret smutanon and I continue to go under that analysis because I don't like how tumblr doesn't let my other blogs ask the question, only my main. Anyway, to those of you who aren't following Vanitas-Vanilla on tumblr (which you really should bc they have a fantastic blog) and don't know what I mean: basically I just sent a bunch of smutty JM headcanons and fed off of their excitement and responses. So, I made a list and tried my best to write it out because I promised them some porn. This was the outcome.
> 
> Just so you all know, the below is probably 20% plot, 10% interruptions, 25% google translations, 35% me not knowing what I'm doing, and the remaining 10% smut. Because I suck and can't write 100% porn. (This is actually my first attempt, so if you have tips, I would love to hear them, honestly.)
> 
> Here's my list that I made, so if these aren't your thing- it's okay if you wanna leave:
> 
> so punk!marco and pastel!jean  
> marco has nipple piercings  
> clutches at sheets  
> calls jean daisy (bc color of outfit)  
> laughs when hes getting pounded into  
> jean is both amused/confused and turned on by so  
> likes to be dominated  
> marcos a back scratcher  
> both leave marks + hickeys  
> jean likes to suck everywhere  
> marco loves giving blowies  
> jean also loves to play with marcos piercings  
> FRENCH KINK  
> praise and dirty talk yeeeeeeeeeeeesss
> 
> And without further ado, thank you for reading my dumb ramble.
> 
> Translations are at the bottom. (If you know French, please, please, point out the translation errors.)

Jean was _almost_ as big of an enthusiast about his culture as his mother was. He didn’t often show it on purpose like she did, deciding to big and flashy, to keep her accent loud and proud, but instead in other, smaller ways. Ways that always brought a little smile to Marco’s face when he noticed them.

 

Things like getting excited when French class was an option for his electives, suppressed accent coming out as he spoke rapidly to others who had been studying his mother tongue for years. Things like correcting his teacher in front of the class, telling them that they were using the wrong word or phrasing here or there. Things like listening to French radios everyday on the bus after finding the apps for them. Things like helping teach Sasha and Connie how to cook and serve proper French dishes. Things like only eating when sitting down around a table, never in a car or while he was doing something else.

 

Things like taking Marco to the French restaurant that opened up only a few blocks down from their apartment. He was so excited about it, reverting back to that foreign teenager he was in high school, where his eyes would light up when he realized that things weren’t as different as they seemed.

 

Jean loved to speak French. He used it to curse when his home team was losing, to sing along with the french translation to songs on the radio, to gently… _persuade_ … Marco to come to bed. He never cared if Marco knew French too, as long as he knew the names of foods, teams, certain bands, and such as well as being able pronounce them correctly. He just wanted to make sure Marco knew what he was talking about when he wanted to discuss the pieces of France that he had brought with him. Understanding this, Marco graciously accepted the challenge and tried to be as accurate as possible when Jean was teaching him a name.

 

So, when the over eager boy pointed out the new place, who was Marco to say no?

 

* * *

 

Inside, Marco had to take a moment to regain the breath he had lost from the sheer beauty of the room. The walls were painted a pale beige, adorned with candles and leafy plants. Older paintings were hung around as well, framed with what looked to be expensive woods. The tables were small, circular things with a simple vased flower atop each one. The dining areas were separated by tall arches and held large, glass chandeliers in every room. It was quiet, too, with the soft chatter and scraping of forks just barely drowned out by the humming of some smooth voice, words too far away to hear much of.

 

Beside him, Jean started singing softly to the tune under his breath, taking in the building’s decor as well. When he noticed Marco looking at him, he only crossed his arms and cocked his head, “What? Maman sent me this song a couple weeks ago and... I liked it.”

 

Shaking his head, Marco only chuckled quietly and waited for their Host to direct them to a table. As he continued to look around, fingers linked with Jean’s, he realized how inappropriately dressed they were for this. They were both in their normal attire, but as he took in others’ dressing styles, it became apparent that they should have gone with something else.

 

Jean’s clothing was actually pretty muted for what he normally wore. He didn’t have as many accesories; only a couple multicolored bracelets and a rainbow beaded necklace, as well as the simple, silver studs in his ears to go with his outfit. It was just some mint green skinnies- the only clean jeans he seemed to have- with a white sweater, flowered print along the hem, and a peach cardigan, along with maya blue converse. His make up wasn’t too extravagant either, with just brown eyeliner, lavender eye shadow, and some lip gloss, the kind that seemed to make his lips almost luminous in the lighting. He loved bringing attention to his lips, Marco always found himself noticing, always with swaying feet.

 

They were here for dinner, not for Marco to lick off all of Jean’s pretty (probably strawberry flavored) gloss. Even if it would make the perfect dessert.

 

Marco’s own getup was what he usually wore, the only difference being that instead of his normal band tees, he had to wear Jean’s joke hawaiian shirt (which he made sure to make fun of when he saw Marco wearing it) because they kept putting off laundry day. Over that floral design was a leather jacket, short and cut off halfway down his torso, sleeves stopping half down his forearm. Along that free skin was thick twine and leather, wrapped together to create the bracelets he never took off and the peeking tips of his tattoos.

 

His tattoos were elaborate and large, covering each arm and parts of his shoulders. It mainly consisted of a bunch of thunderclouds and lightning, the electrical strikes all coming together to outline charged, cyan roses. Along the bottom of each arm, towards his wrist, held two dates in darkened cursive. One was a date of many years ago, but the one on his left arm was more recent, only seventeen years after the other.

  
Marco’s own jeans were ripped all over, some places with actual, big holes where little specks of freckles could be seen, like little hidden treasures, other places with just the white threads showing, barely keeping the dark, tight jeans together. His eyeliner, unlike Jean’s neat, single line along the edge of his eyelid, was thick and circled around the whole rim. Jean often liked to tell him that he was his big, freckly raccoon. It flowed well into his deep, almost black purple shadow that went up farther than Jean’s own, close to his eyebrows, where one gray half-hoop lay pierced. He had similar ones in his ears, too, a set in each ear as well as studs, and another ring in the right side of his lip, opposite of his eyebrow one. (He had some under his shirt, too, though they weren’t as obvious.)

Bronzed and tattooed skin wasn’t the only part of him with color, as his ebony hair, held back by a simple rubber band, had streaks of bright, near neon stripes along the longer uppercut. In it was blues, like the color of an ‘on’ button, greens like easter grass, purples like the lights of a strip club.

 

As Marco picked at the hem of his shirt, feeling both overly and under dressed, Jean jerked at his palm, breaking him from his moment of self conscious. “Come on. Our table’s this way, not under that ugly thing.”

 

Looking up, Marco found the concerned eyes of his boyfriend staring back at him, as well as the bored eyes of the Host and realized that night that only he cared. Literally no one gave him a second glance as he was guided with Jean to their table, literally no one stared like he thought someone was going to. Even Jean seemed to be comfortable in his clothes, like nothing was wrong.

 

It wasn’t until the server asked if they would want an entrée and Jean’s eyes sparkled at the proper use of the word that Marco learned that he didn’t care either.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was not a stretch to call Jean an exhibtist. He would always try to disagree, but with the hand that was inching up Marco’s leg, playing with the holes in his jeans, he would have to say that perhaps Jean was wrong when he claimed to be little more than vanilla.

 

“You have _got_ to stop that.” Swiping at his mischievous fingers, the taller of the two turned to attempt a glare, “I know you’re getting tired of waiting for our drinks, but you can wait a little longer.”

 

“I’d rather not, though.” Jean muttered boredly as he pulled back his hand. “Why don’t they give the menus with the tables?”

 

“They’re probably running short.” Marco offered, pulling out his phone to try and find _some_ way of making time pass. “They are busy, after all.”

 

Only receiving a huff in response from the other, Marco continued to swipe away at his phone, flicking Jean’s nimble digits each time they neared his knee, at some point just grabbing them and twining them against his own on the table. He could practically feel the grin of amusement radiating off of his lover at his choice of action, but he didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking up at it. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon, you damn child.”

 

Within only a few minutes after his claim, their server arrived with their drinks and menus, apologizing for the wait and inconvenience, leaving them alone again. They both opened them up, Jean sighing in relief and Marco slipping his phone into the pocket of his jacket. Just after Marco had flipped to the Dinner section, he heard Jean happily listing the names of the food options quietly to himself, excited to see they were all in, of course, French. Smiling at the other, Marco shifted, trying to ignore the way his tongue rolling off the words made his fingers twitch and just focus on the way that the corners of Jean’s lips would inch up with every syllable.

 

It was known that between the two of them, French was a language that when spoken by a certain Jean, would make Marco entirely more agreeable. Watching the way Jean would move his mouth in such a different way than when he spoke English just made Marco swoon if he wasn’t careful enough to stabilize himself in time. Hearing the way Jean’s accent came out, heavier, thicker made Marco’s mouth water if he didn’t prepare himself. The way Jean’s _bedroom voice_ sounded like his French accent always had Marco in a dizzy spell, putty under Jean’s devious fingers and sinful mouth. Jean only knew the half of it. He didn’t know that Marco had to try desperately not to pop a boner each time he was teaching the man a new band or dish.

 

So, with Jean animatedly susurrating the menu, it wasn’t long before Marco had to put both his elbows on the table, head bowed towards the table, menu tall enough to hide the redness of his ears. The movement caused Jean to stop- which both relieved and saddened Marco (Jean _did_ have such a beautiful voice after all)- and look up, flattening his menu against the table. “You okay there?”

 

Nodding, Marco took a breath to hopefully clear his voice, though it still came out as strained and just a tad bit _breathless_ , “I’m fine.”

  
Not believing, Jean made a noise that resembled a grunt before tapping at the back of Marco’s menu. “If you’re not feeling good we can leave and come back a different time.”

 

“No,” Marco started before clearing his throat, trying to get his heartbeat in check. “I’m fine, really.” He changed the subject, “Have you decided what you wanted to order?”

 

Jean took the bait. “ _Brochette d'Agneau a la Greque._ ” He grinned, watching Marco hunt down the menu for what it was.

 

_Lamb brochettes with sweet peppers, zucchini and onions with a Greek citrus sauce of fresh rosemary, orange, lime, and grapefruit juice._

  
Glancing over the card that held their food choices, Marco gave Jean a horrified look, “Lamb? As in… _baby_ sheep?”

 

Shrugging, Jean didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed, “It’s good.”

 

Marco only continued to stare at him with a transfixed expression of disgust and slight fear. Jean gave a somewhat dark chuckle at the look and gently nudged Marco’s foot with his own. “What about you? What are you getting?”

 

“The… Supreme de Voila?” Marco offered, brows furrowing at the name. He knew he got it wrong - Jean’s cringe from the horrible pronunciation wasn’t what told him that, but enforced it.

  
“You mean the _Supreme de Volaille_ , right?” Jean corrected, allowing Marco to blame his flushed face on embarrassment. It wouldn’t really be too far from the mark. Marco nodded and turned to look away, blush expanding at Jean’s laughter. “Boy, are you red today.”

 

“What d’you mean?” asked Marco when he spun back to Jean’s curious, almost calculating gaze. He watched the way Marco seemed practically itchy under his gaze, like he was seconds from squirming in his chair.

 

“You look uncomfortable as hell,” He started, leaning forward to balance an elbow on the table and settle his chin the palm of his hand, “What’s got you all twitchy, mon chere?”

 

Maybe it was the atmosphere that gave Jean the thought to add on those two little words- maybe it was the fact that he already knew. Marco didn’t know which one it was, but it wouldn’t matter anyway. He still looked down at the sound of the affectionate name, knowing Jean could see it was only brightening the color on his cheeks.

 

Sucking in a short breath in realization, Jean reached forward and across the table to jostle Marco lightly. When Marco didn’t look up, he simply did it again, stating his name in attempt to grab his attention. It was cute, really, the way Marco was embarrassed about something as small as this, but what Jean really wanted right now was not ‘cute Marco’. He wanted Marco to stop pouting. “ _Regardez-moi, peu de réglisse noire._ ”

 

To his surprise, Marco gave a little shiver before sitting straight up and glaring at him. Looks like he caught on. “Did you just call me ‘ _black licorice_ ’?”

 

“Maybe?” Jean tried for an innocent tone of voice, but the smirk and proud gleam in his eye immediately destroyed whatever efforts it had made. “You kinda look like some, what with all the black you always wear. Well, aside from, of course,” his eyes trailed down to the little pineapples and palm trees littered all over Marco’s shirt, “That.”

 

“Well,” Marco puffed, spreading his fingers over the table and his menu. Jean bit his lip to hold back a giggle. “You look like a rainbow puked on you.”

 

Jean let out a small squawk at that, “Hey! That’d be a pastel rainbow, thank you. And you already have a nickname for me, remember?”

 

At Jean’s defending argument, Marco collected himself, leaning back against his chair, “‘Course I do, _Daisy_.”

 

Smiling softly, contently, Jean moved his other arm up to rest on it as well, as Marco stared back at him, fingers absently playing his the strands of his hair caught in his rubber band. They continued to smile at each other, gazing fondly in silence. After a few moments, Jean pulled himself back and tilted his head to the right, his next words falling out of his mouth casually, like they didn’t have much of an impact, “You should have told me that you get turned on by me speaking French.”

 

“What?” Marco asked, hand falling from his hair and into his lap. That was a surprising statement. “I mean, why?”

 

“Well,” started Jean, lips pursed, barely holding back a grin as he peeked at Marco out of the corner of his eye. A hand palmed at Marco’s knee, eliciting a snicker when it jerked away. His other hand reached above the table, to softly caress a freckled cheek, “Donc, je pourrais faire du sexe un peu plus excitant- _pour vous_.”

 

Swallowing harder than he’d care to admit, Marco closed his eyes and gripped the edges of the holes in his jeans tightly. “I only know a little French, Daisy. I don’t know what you just said.” That wasn’t entirely true. Judging from the words he chose- ones that were close to English, he could assume Jean had said something about _exciting sex_.

 

Well, if that wasn’t promising, Marco couldn’t think of what would be.

 

Repeating the French statement and enjoying the long bounce of Marco’s adam’s apple, Jean pressed himself against the table, leaning closer. “It means,” He paused, sucking in a breath for dramatic effect, “‘ _So I can make the sex more exciting_ ,’” another pause, “Especially for _you_.”

  
“Would you two like a little more time to decide?” An amused and slightly embarrassed voice asked, startling both of them out of their moment. Jean slowly slid back, hands snaking down Marco’s neck before he positioned them back at his sides, looking at their server like nothing had happened.

 

“Actually, we have already made our choices. Isn’t that right,” he turned to Marco, eyes glinting with a wicked look, “ _Mon trésor_?”

 

Marco was barely able to hold himself back from covering his face and hiding under the table.

 

Dinner was not as short as he would have liked, especially not when he had asked Jean if he wanted dessert (hoping he’d say no), only to get the response, “ _Seulement vous, mais que vous devez attendre_.”

 

* * *

 

 

When they got back to their apartment, Marco had planned on pinning Jean up and teasing the hell out of him- seeing how he liked it. Maybe then he wouldn’t whisper French in breathy tones while in public, just to watch the way Marco’s cheeks would bloom and how his legs couldn’t keep still.

 

What Marco _hadn’t_ planned, however, was Jean gripping his hips and pulling himself flush against Marco’s body as he played with the lock of their door, a low growl telling him to, “ _Hurry the hell up already_.”

 

But at that point, he definitely expected the lithe body to press him against the wall, kicking the door shut behind them.

 

Hands still on his hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles, chest to chest, Jean looked up, eyes somehow bright in the dark lighting. Grinning with that overconfident smirk of his, Jean slowly slithered against Marco who held his breath in wait, letting it out in a small, short breath when Jean’s middle rocked snugly with his own. Slowly winding his arms around Jean’s neck, Marco awaited his next move, knowing it would be quick and dirty- just what he would expect from his boyfriend.

 

It was slow, but still filthy- Marco counted it as a win.

 

Dragging his nose up Marco’s chest, nuzzling against his shirt and jacket, Jean moved to suck at his collarbone after pushing away at the fabric covering it. His thigh moved against Marco’s own and soon between tight jeans, wasting no time in pushing up and against his lap. Though he wasn’t hard yet, Marco still let out a puff of a groan, hands falling to grasp at Jean’s ass and help him out. “Why’re you movin’ so slow? Come on, go faster.”

 

Only shaking his head, Jean continued to take his time, keeping his pace with his knee, making sure his mouth bruised the tanned skin below it before he moved to another place. He chuckled when Marco pressed him closer, trying to grind against him, only to suck in air through his teeth when black painted nails dug into the green skinnies. Noticing the sudden breeze on his neck, Marco grinned and dug them in deeper as Jean finally began to move his leg a little faster.

 

“ _E-Enlever cette chemise laid_ ,” murmured Jean between miniscule gasps into his neck, “ _Ça fait mal mes yeux_.”

 

Not trying to hide it anymore, Marco flat out moaned into Jean’s ear, using his nails as leverage to push Jean more against him. “Don’t know what you said. Sorry, Daisy.”

 

“Take off your shirt,” Jean translated before going back to sucking marks into Marco’s skin. He slid one of his hands up to push the colorful fabric away and create more purpled spots.

 

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Marco removed his palms from Jean’s behind, slipping the sleeves of his jacket past his shoulders, but not yet off his arms. He looked down at Jean, still panting, occasionally stopping completely at certain sparks of pleasure. “We should… should head to the bedroom, yeah?”

 

“I dunno,” Jean muttered, not stopping in peppering his lover’s skin with bruises and kisses, “Think it’d be kind of _chaud_ to _vas te faire encule_ contre ce _mur_.”

 

With all the emphasis on the words Marco didn’t really know, but could honestly guess based on the context, he couldn’t help but buck again, arms wildly attempting to take off his jacket so he could drag Jean up against him once more. “Oh, G-God.” He moaned, freeing one of his hands and immediately tangling it into Jean’s soft hair. “You sound so _hot_.”

 

He could feel Jean smirk against his skin, dragging his teeth along the bottom of his neck before humming out another word, “ _Chaud_.”

 

“ _Yes_!” Squeaked Marco, closing his eyes and freeing his other hand, which he used to grip the base of the shorter boy’s neck, tugging him closer. Chuckling at Marco’s reply, Jean began to softly kiss further up his neck, smoothing his tongue over the area just after he pecked it. Out of breath, Marco furrowed his eyebrows, eyes still squeezed shut, “What on Earth… are you laughin’ about?”

 

“You just look cute like that,” Jean told him with another breathy giggle, “Getting turned on and moaning at the sound of my _Français_.”

 

Though he wanted to frown, call him out, smack him over the head, or _something_ ; all Marco found himself doing was snorting once before tugging Jean away from his neck and instead to his mouth. Finally he could kiss his boyfriend, feel those damned lips against his own, moving and sliding, opening to let out a moan when Marco trailed his nails down from Jean’s scalp and neck to his lower back. Jean’s hands in turn slithered up and around Marco’s sides, crawling their way up to his hair where they bunched, tugging lightly and sending little jolts of pleasure through him.

  
Their kiss was sloppy- something Marco found unique about Jean’s smooches. Marco could feel some of their spit dribble onto his chin, a little splatter on his collarbone and soak into his shirt. Opening his eyes briefly, he noted that Jean’s own face wasn’t that well off either, as some had slid down his jaw, slickening his sharp angles- much like the long gone lip gloss. He closed his eyes again, letting himself be absorbed in their buss, in the sweet noises from his love, in _Jean_.

 

Jean pulled back for air at some point, panting as Marco reluctantly opened his eyes again. Instead of answering Marco’s unspoken question of _Why did we stop?_ , Jean smirked, hand sliding down Marco’s heaving chest as he took a step back. “Stay here.” He supplied, pecking Marco’s nose. “Make sure all the blinds are drawn and…” He trailed off, looking down at the shirt Marco was still wearing, “And for God’s sake, Marco, take that damn thing off.”

 

“I’ll be right back.” Jean told him when Marco nodded, swaying his hips as he sauntered to their bedroom.

 

Taking a moment to collect himself and even out his breathing, Marco ran a sweaty hand down his face. He knew Jean would be back soon- hopefully with lube and condoms- and he didn’t have much time to himself at the moment. Pulling the horrible shirt off the top of his head, he dropped it next to his forgotten jacket, fleetingly remembering that they would have to do laundry at the sight of it crumpled on the ground. Then, he tugged at the rubber band in his hair that had gotten somewhat loose, pulling it all the way out before he put it around one of his wrists, alongside side his bracelets. He wandered into the living room, glancing at the windows and checking to make sure that no one could see into them, he settled on the couch, kicking off his shoes and socks as well.

 

Unbuttoning his jeans, he unzipped them as well, giving his dick a little more space instead of crowding in his pants, but did nothing more than that. He liked when Jean would take off his bottoms for him, slowly inching the material down and leaving teasing nips at the revealed skin. He knew Jean liked it too, because his smile would press into Marco as he clutched behind him, in the sheets, onto Jean’s arms; wherever he could.

 

At the thought of Jean’s mouth, the brunette’s hand moved south, gently palming the tent in his boxers. He moved to drape himself over the cushions, hoping to look spread and prepared for Jean when he came back. He knew their couch was the main focal point of the room, pointing towards the hall that led to their bedroom (and bathroom), so the second Jean came back out, Marco would be the first thing he saw. Since the sun was still up, the cracks between the blinds let in enough light that they could see fine without the lights on.

 

“I grabbed two condoms because I know how sometimes you don’t like getting yourself all messy,” called Jean as he walked back in without his own jewerly and shoes, staring down at the packets in his hand. He looked up to say something else, but stopped when he saw the position Marco was in on the couch. Whatever he was going to say was lost in a quiet exhale of, “ _Oh_.”

 

Giving himself another stroke- mostly for Jean’s benefit- Marco bit back a smile, voice sweet and as sugary as can be when he cooed, “Aww, how kind of you.” He had power here, where it left Jean all flustered and breathless. Here, he could ask the questions he was too sidetracked to bring up earlier. “So, why stay in the hall? The bed’s more comfier, don’t you think? Or even the couch?”

 

For a moment, Jean looked discouraged and the nervous biting on his lip worried Marco. He sat up, hand abandoning its task. “I mean, not that wall sex doesn’t sound _hot as hell_ , I just don’t want you to hurt your back or something.”

 

Within seconds that confident air came back, as well as the dominant prowl as Jean slinked across the carpet and plopped down on Marco’s lap, encasing his thighs with his own. “Trust me, _Doudou_ ,” he leaned forward so that his lips just barely grazed Marco’s, “The only thing that’s gonna hurt is your ass when I wreck it.”

 

Even the French was not enough to simmer the laughter that bubbled in Marco’s throat from the dumb and vulgar line. Much of it didn’t escape his mouth, however, as Jean soon used his own to muffle the sound. Marco kissed back enthusiastically, fingers skimming along the band of skin that peeked just under Jean’s sweater. He pulled away with a whisper, “You can take it off, you know.”

 

“Oh, but you look good in white.” Marco retorted, shucking the fuzzy fabric up an inch or two anyway.

 

With a smirk and raised eyebrows, Jean tilted his head back to get a good look at the bruised and puffy-lipped boy below him, “So, does that mean you don’t want the extra condom?”

 

It took Marco a second, it really did. But when he got Jean’s foul subtext, he flushed, not saying anything as he only roughly shoved the rest of the sweater up and off Jean’s torso. Of course, Jean laughed at his wordless response, cackled even, taking Marco’s jaw between his palms. He gently thumbed small circles into his jawline, leaning down to give another kiss. It was a lot more sensual than the other ones that night, just as slow but more controlled.

 

Just like that, the mood had taken a turn again. Not heated like before, or teasing like just a moment ago, but soft and sultry instead.

 

"Your make up's smearing, Daisy." He whispered after they pulled away again, thumbing at the line of brown that had streaked farther than the corner of his lover's eye, mixing it into the powdery lavender that rested just above amber orbs.

 

Jean couldn’t say anything about the black that blended with dark purple on Marco's eyelids because even if it was smudging, it gave Marco a different look. One that wasn’t dangerous or controlling like the vibes he always tried to give. More... disheveled and... needy. Definitely needy- just like the whine he produced when Jean pulled away to duck down and lick slowly across one of Marco's nipples.

 

Instantly, Marco’s hands were in his hair- fingers tangling between locks, nails scraping against his scalp. “Fuck,” he cursed, pupils full and eyelids hooded in just the way that made Jean jerk, “You know I’m sensitive, you can’t just-”

 

He was interrupted by Jean giving him another lick and sucking the barbell piercing into his mouth. Only suckling a few times before releasing the moaning man beneath him, Jean chuckled, “Oh really? Because I think I just did.”

 

Attempting to glare up at his partner, Marco slid his nails harshly down Jean’s back and to his ass, letting them bite into his jeans as he tugged him forwards and down, right onto his hardness, which was a lot more predominant than before. His glare wasn’t that scary, however, and it honestly made Jean laugh, though he did begin to rock against the bulge in Marco’s underwear upon realizing just how hard he was. “You know…” He started, looping his arms around Marco’s neck, “I never forget just how sensitive those piercings are, but your reactions to me playing with them always surprise me.”

 

Marco only groaned in response, pushing down on Jean’s hips to apply more pressure to their friction. Jean continued, as if he had never paused. “You always look so _chaud_ and _cassé_ underneath my _doigts_ ,” as if to add significance to the statement, Jean reached forward and tweaked the other, spit-free nipple, grinning at the way Marco jumped and arched at the ministrations, moaning loudly. There were few things that could make Marco incredibly noisy, but Jean was gifted at finding them, playing them like his boyfriend was his harp.

 

Dragging soft-pressing nails along the outskirts of Marco’s tattoos, Jean took a moment to admire and appreciate the beauty of them. He always loved looking at the art that was splayed down his lover’s arms, always loved touching it. They held a special place in Marco’s heart- the storm clouds- and had incredible value to him. It was what made them even more beautiful to Jean.

 

 _“Roses were her favorite.” Marco had murmured once, voice cold and sullen._ Jean remembered it well.

  
Marco had _been_ an older brother.

 

It was a long time before Jean could trace along those storms that connected Marco’s freckles. However, he could now- and that was what he did. He outlined all the angry clouds he saw, followed the thunder strikes, swirled his fingers in the almost celestial petals, like they were a paint he was using. He continued to adore the work with his fingers and eyes until Marco finally stopped him.

 

“Take your pants off,” breathed Marco, who didn’t actually stop grinding to make it easier. Instead of helping, he just furrowed his eyebrows, pushing Jean even further against him. Between sweet gasps and choked breaths, Jean slowly began to stop their grind, pulling away and standing up when he decided he had gotten enough air not to let his mind go fuzzy. Marco opened his eyes, confused at the absence of his boyfriend in his lap, brows furrowing deeper.

 

Jean grinned, unhooking his button as he watched Marco’s eyes drop to his crotch, “Ce ne serait pas _chaud_ pour vous appuyer contre _le mur_? Pour regarder vous _tortiller_ et _prenez_ à une surface plane, incapable de trouver l’achat? Ce serait vrai _sexy_ de vous entendre _gémir_ quand vous dit comment _chaud_ vous étiez comme je l’ai _claqué_ en vous.”

 

Marco didn’t know what the hell Jean just said, but if he kept talking like that it wouldn’t even matter if Jean had grabbed a condom for him as well.

 

There wasn’t even a point in trying to respond to these messages, Marco realized as he reached down to palm himself again, whimpering as he stared up at Jean. Though Jean was shorter, now he seemed so tall, so powerful, standing above him with that nasty smirk. Or more accurately, delicious. Marco just wanted to kiss it off. Maybe suck him off until it disappeared…

 

Within moments, Jean was bent over Marco’s lap, gripping his hand so he couldn’t touch himself, face just inches from his own. “You’re not really playing fair, babe,” Marco was told, “Jerking it off to my voice- right in front of me, might I add- just after I offered to move it to the wall.”

 

In all honesty, Marco didn’t really have an answer for that. He ended up staring, mouth gaping, with wide eyes as Jean’s evil, _sexy_ grin grew in size. Seeing that he wasn’t going to say anything back, Jean slowly let go of Marco’s fingers and dropped his hands to the other’s lap, where he held his hips, thumbs steadily slid down his _V_.

 

With his lovely boyfriend twitching below him, Jean bit his lip and tilted forward to rest his forehead against Marco’s. “I should make you suck me off.”

 

Marco’s response was immediate. His eyes widened more than before and he nodded, almost violently. Hands getting back into action, he reached for Jean’s pants, wanting to finish what he had started and get them all the way off.

 

See, Marco really loved when got to give Jean blowjobs. And since Jean loved to receive them, especially from Marco, it was often that he got to give them. He loved the way Jean would always put him in positions that showed Marco that _he_ was in power, not himself. He loved how Jean would curl his fingers into Marco’s hair when he was doing well and tell him so, between pants and hitched breaths. He loved how even when he was red-faced and barely coherent, Jean was still the one in control.

 

The only problem was, as he reached to unzip his lover’s pants, Jean stepped back.

 

“How should we do this?” Jean mused aloud, glancing at Marco before looking around the room. “I could sit on the couch and have you between my legs, kneeling before me on the ground…”

 

Marco’s mouth watered at the thought.

 

“Or I could step back and have you looking up at me as I facefucked your mouth.”

 

“Yes! That one!” Marco agreed, sitting up straighter. Honestly, Marco didn’t care which way he sat as long as he got to perform the lewd action. It was mostly for Jean’s own benefit, since he knew the ways to spin something so it felt like he was the putty in Jean’s fingers, no matter how they did it. Jean just seemed to have his own preferences.

 

“That also means you can’t just grind against the couch…” murmured Jean as he took another step back and fingered the band of his jeans. “You’d be rubbing up on my leg. I like that idea.”

 

Barely keeping his excited breathing in check, Marco fell forward and sunk to his knees, holding his twitching hands in front of him, awaiting Jean’s permission before he took off his pants. Every so often, he would quiver a little, thrilled already, anticipating all that was going to happen.

 

“And you’re already kind of close to coming,” he hummed, reaching forward to rest his palm against Marco’s cheek. He leaned into it, fluttering his eyelids at the soft touch and sweet voice, “I’d love to see you ruin your jeans.”

 

“I…” Unable to use his voice, Marco just nodded again, staring up at his boyfriend, pupils blown and eyes no longer as wide in shock as they were before. Grinning, Jean skimmed his fingernails under Marco’s jaw until he got to the tip of his chin and tilted his head further up. Marco obediently followed the movement, swallowing. Jean’s eyes traced the jump of his adam’s apple before he let go of Marco’s face and instead tapped his nose.

 

“You can start whenever.” He told him, grin a little less predatory and a little more gentle.

 

Nodding once again, Marco moved his trembling hands to Jean’s zipper, pulling it down hurriedly, but not harshly. He didn’t want to accidentally catch Jean’s underwear fabric in it. He then shoved down his unreasonably tight skinnies and let Jean step out of them, kicking them away before he reached for his boxers, a dark blue- very different from his usual clothing choices. In fact… “Are you wearing my underwear?” He giggled, covering his mouth, unable to help himself.

 

Jean groaned, moving to rub at his eyes. “Yes… We didn’t have anything else clean. This really shouldn’t matter, Marco!”

 

With another chuckle, he leaned forward to softly peck the head of Jean’s cock, still trapped in his boxers. Unsurprisingly, a moment later, the fabric below his lips darkened, soaking in Jean’s precum. He laughed again, looking up at his lover, “You’re such a slut for sentimental, romantic stuff.” If kissing his dick could really be considered so, Marco supposed.

 

“You know, just a second ago, you were practically _quaking_ for my cock down your throat,” grumbled Jean.

 

Though the vulgar language made him shiver, Marco still grinned as he licked his lips, turning his attention back to his task. “Yeah, what ever happened to that?”

 

Opening his mouth to retort, Jean’s breath was sucked out of him as Marco slowly licked up the length of his cock, wetting his boxers just a little. Immediately, he twined his fingers into Marco’s hair, watching him as he did it again, only on the other side. “You feel so-” he took a deep breath, “So _good_ , Marco.”

 

Flushing at the compliment, Marco tried not to duck his head as he mouthed more, humming at the tightening grip on the strands of his hair. Smirking at the bashful action, Jean brought his other hand to the back of Marco’s head and pushed him towards his crotch, where Marco took the hint and nuzzled the hard flesh with his nose and stopped stalling. Pulling away, he hooked his fingers into Jean’s boxers and looked up, checking to make sure it was still okay and that he had permission to continue on. Jean nodded, face pink already, and Marco inched down the fabric, gently tugging it over Jean’s cock before dragging it down to his knees and letting it fall. Stepping out of it like he did his pants, Jean adjusted, shivering a little at the cold air. He watched Marco wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans before stroking a single finger along the vein that etched up his length.

 

Jean’s breathing hitched as he watched with hooded eyes, feet shuffling a little in expectation of the rest of Marco’s hand- or really, his mouth. His dick twitched at the thought, at memories of Marco between his legs, looking up at him with eyes that looked all too innocent for what he had between his lips...

 

Hissing in surprise, Jean hadn’t been paying attention to Marco, too lost in thought, when the boy had retrieved his hand and instead licked a stripe up the side of his member, bringing him crashing back to reality. Such a lovely reality.

 

“ _God_ , Marco,” croaked Jean, grasp tightening again in inky and multicolored locks. Dark eyes flicked up when his name was called, waiting for Jean’s reaction as he sucked the tip into his mouth and gradually moved down his length. He watched Jean’s face morph into different variations of pleasure, moaning without shame. Feeling a twinge of pride, he swallowed and continued to take more of Jean into his mouth.

 

Once he got to the point just before he would gag, Marco swallowed again, beginning to bob slowly, one hand coming to pump his shaft where he could not reach, the other gently skimming his inner thigh with his nails. It moved slowly across the swell of his ass then delved deeper, rewarding Marco with a jerk from Jean. He was always incredibly sensitive there, able to come extraordinarily fast from just being fingered, or even rimmed.

 

“ _Jesus_ ,” he cut himself off with a moan, “You’re so wonderful, oh.” His voice was already deepening, thickening, becoming very similar to his accent when he spoke French. “Oh, Marco, _baby_.”

 

The baby comment had Marco rubbing his thighs together, but he kept both hands on Jean, one circling his entrance, the other squeezing Jean softly as he pulled off, taking a breath before he went back to kissing up and down his shaft. Jean’s sighs and moans were quiet and breathy, sometimes going higher in pitch when Marco thumbed over the head.

 

Glancing back up at his lover’s face, where Jean’s eyes were closed, squeezed shut in pleasure, Marco breathed in through his nose before taking Jean into his mouth again. A sound halfway stuck between a moan and gasp escaped from his mouth, fingers loosening and tightening their hold. He cursed, subconsciously pulling Marco closer, making him bob a little faster. He was close, already.

 

“Puis-je baisser votre visage?” Asked Jean, making Marco moan around his mouthful of dick, the vibrations bringing out another swear, “ _Merde_. C-Ce que je peux glisser ma _bite_ dans la _gorge_?”

 

Though Jean had said earlier that he could hump his leg instead of the couch, Marco just realized how hard it would be to do so if Jean was standing like that. He groaned loudly in response to the French, jouncing his head even quicker, hand that used to be teasing Jean’s hole instead sliding down his leg. Once he reached his ankle, he gently nudged it towards himself, where he was practically grinding against his own legs. Or, he would be, if he could. Hoping Jean caught his message, he looked up weakly, silently begging for some attempt at release as well.

 

Catching on, Jean moved his foot forward and between Marco’s thighs where the other immediately began to grind down on his toes, through the fabric of Marco’s boxers and jeans, and Jean’s mitch-matched socks. Letting go of his tight grip on Marco’s uppercut, he smoothed the hair down and brushed his fingers through it a couple times before inhaling quietly. “Can I fuck your face?” He asked in English that time, eyes lighting up just a little at the smile he could see in Marco’s own.

 

He whined, but did not protest at Marco’s pulling away again. “Yes,” the man’s voice was husky, deeper than usual from Jean’s penis being at the back of his mouth so long, but it still held that small undertone of submission. Giving the slit a small lick, Marco gave Jean a simple smile without breath before he ducked down again, hands guiding Jean’s to hold his cheeks, fingers curled around his ears and thumbs resting just above his cheekbones.

 

His hair fell back, down and around the backs of Jean’s hands, tangled and frazzled from constant gripping and being toyed with. The sight, along with permission to take Marco deeper into his mouth, was mouth watering. Pants and groans and mumbles of “ _Oh, putain, le Christ, Marco_ ,” trickled from his mouth like a left on faucet. Closing his eyes against the tears that prickled at the corners of his eyes from desperately trying to ignore his desire to gag, Marco let the small praise wash over him. Gripping Jean’s hips, he held on, his own thrusts beginning to rushen and turn hasty on Jean’s leg.

 

Marco came first, tears freeing from his eyes as he splurted in his pants, underwear, dampening even Jean’s sock. He had moaned loudly, louder than the squeaks he had given, increasing in pitch as he got closer to the edge.

 

Jean, however, pulled away, confusing Marco as he had not come yet, but was holding himself at the base, stopping himself from doing so. Looking down at him with a fiery look, one that was so barely controlled that it made Marco gulp, still coming down from his high, Jean ran a hand through Marco’s thick locks, “Still want me to fuck you against le mur?”

 

“Y-Yes,” squeaked Marco before he collected himself, wiping at the liquid on his face (sadly, all his own and none of Jean’s). Dropping his hands to his lap, he stared up at his boyfriend and tried again, quieter than before, “Yes, please.”

 

_Oh._

 

At Jean’s lack of reaction, he hesitantly leaned forward and gave a tentative lick just below the head of Jean’s dick, startling him into action. When he glanced down again, Marco still had those puppy eyes, practically begging to be fucked against the wall. He choked back a moan. Damn those dark, powerful orbs.

 

“ _Debout_ ,” he purred, barely grasping enough of himself to make his voice sound heavy and thick in the air. Shivering visibly, Marco did as told, awaiting Jean’s plans. Jean was always good about keeping the suspense up. Marco was usually the one with the ideas- not tonight apparently- and if Jean had some, he would keep Marco on his toes about, just as he was doing now.

 

Once Marco was back on his feet, shifting uncomfortably in his dirty jeans, having not taken them off as he was waiting for Jean, he brushed his hair behind his ear and out of his face. Jean tugged him so they were flush against each other and pecked his nose, looping his arms around the bottom of Marco’s waist. Sliding his hands lower, Jean massaged the flesh of Marco’s ass with a grin, “You’d like these off, wouldn’t you?” Nodding in response, Marco yelped when his hands dropped to covered thighs before hoisting them up and around Jean’s own waist. Instantaneously wrapping his hands around Jean’s shoulders, Marco earned a chuckle at his response. “Yeah, we can get these off, just give me a minute.” With those words, Jean unhurriedly- for a minor fear of tipping over- trudged back to their hallway and pressed Marco against the wall.

 

“What’re you gonna do to me?” Marco whispered, attempting dirty talk as he watched Jean through thick lashes and a hazy view. Normally, he was quite good at it, but right now he was both incredibly distracted and feeling powerless. It was _wonderful_.

 

“Détruire le cul is the goal,” started Jean as he pushed closer, sandwiching Marco between himself and the wall behind them, jerking down the waistband of his jeans. “But first I’m going to take these off.”

 

He got them just past Marco’s knees and let him down to kick them off from there before he then tugged at the other’s ruined boxers. Upon revealing the mess that clung between Marco’s skin and his last piece of clothing, Jean whistled. “You got really dirty, didn’t you?”

 

Biting his lip, Marco nodded silently and watched as Jean inched the material, dragging it further down his legs slowly. Dropping to his knees, he continued his slow movement, nipping at the skin around Marco’s gradually hardening cock. Once the band reached mid thigh, Jean began to move his kisses and nibbles south, still shuffling Marco’s boxers down. Unknowing of what to do with his hands, Marco grasped Jean’s hair, grip tightening and untightening repeatedly. He gasped and jerked with every whisper of a peck and slide of tooth along his skin, throwing his head back against the wall to release his noises into the darkness of their apartment.

 

Looking up from the bruise he was sucking on Marco’s twitchy inner legs, Jean grinned against it, purposefully gliding his teeth across the sensitive skin, “You never really answered me, Marco.”

 

Making a noise of confusion, Marco opened his eyes and looked down, chest hastily rising and falling from Jean’s ministrations. Once he relaxed a little, he softly swept his fingers through Jean’s hair a few times, taking comfort in the fluffy tufts he felt brush against his palms. He waited, knowing Jean would repeat his question from earlier.

 

He did. “I said: You got real dirty, didn’t you?”

 

Immediately, Marco answered him, “Yeah, I guess I did.”

 

Smirking at his answer and the entrance it provided him with, Jean chuckled darkly, much more than he had at dinner, “Guess that mean I’ll have to clean you up then, huh?”

 

Furrowing his eyebrows, Marco opened his mouth to ask what he meant, being that they got dirty all the time- and while Marco _preferred_ condoms, it didn’t take away from the experience even when they didn’t use them- but the word that came out was not one of his planned phrase.

 

“ _Oh!_ ” Eyes widening almost instantly, Marco moaned, hands filling of Jean’s hair again at the pleasure of Jean’s tongue. Apparently, when he had said “ _I’ll have to clean you up_ ” he meant that he’d do it without a cloth.

 

Not wanting to pull Jean’s hair too much, Marco let his hands slip to the man’s shoulders, where they grabbed at instead, digging nails into the skin. Jean shivered at the action and pressed his tongue flat against Marco’s cock, now fully erect. As the pace of Jean’s pink muscle increased, lapping at the left over, cold and sticky semen, so did Marco’s scrabbling at his shoulders, sometimes going further down, around to the top of his back, leaving angry, red lines in his pale color.

 

“Jean,” panted Marco, fingers flexing against his shoulders multiple times, “ _Jean. Jean, I am going to-_ ”

 

“Think that should be clean enough.” Jean spoke after pulling away, leaving Marco a whining, disappointed mess. He laughed, standing up with admittingly wobbly legs, “I have to get the lube and condoms, you baby.”

 

Frowning and unable to decide if he was pissed or miserable- or just a healthy mixture of both- Marco was cut off from saying anything else once more, “And stay just like that. Don’t touch yourself.”

 

While he was tempted just to ignore Jean and bring himself over the edge, he realized that one, Jean could make it feel so much better, and two, their supplies were only on the couch, not far. They had been abandoned during their make out on the couch, forgotten by the point Jean had stood up. Glaring uselessly at Jean as he gathered up what he said he would, Marco kicked at the pile of clothes at his feet, pushing them together with the hawaiian shirt and leather jacket from earlier.

 

Only a few seconds later, Jean was making his way back, cocky smirk slapped all over his lips. However, it slipped away when Jean, too, slipped on the wooden floorboards, almost falling flat on his face. He caught himself, thankfully, but Marco didn’t- his giggles and gawfs escaped, leaving Jean redder than before as he cursed at his socks under his breath, ripping each one off, “Totally forgot about these fuckers and they wanted to teach me a lesson.”

 

“Come on, Daisy. You were totally gonna be one of _those_ people.” Marco snarked between gasps for air and continuous laughter.

 

Head shooting up, Jean narrowed his eyes, “One of _what_ people?”

 

“You know…” He wheezed, reaching behind him to grasp at the wall for support, “One of those people who like to have sex with their socks on.”

 

“I took them off!” He hissed as he ambled over with more careful, slower steps. “I don’t like sex with my socks on!”

 

“If you say so,” sniggered Marco as Jean drew closer, wrapping his arms around his neck when he was within reach. Smiling tenderly, he pressed his lips against Jean’s own and tugged him forward, into their kiss.

 

Humming quietly, Jean pulled away after a moment. “I do say so,” he whispered, shoving his chest against Marco’s so he was once again, pressed between Jean and the wall. Gasping faintly at the forceful movement, Marco let his legs be guided to wrap around Jean’s waist, leaning back so he could use the wall as most of his support. He still held on to Jean’s scratched up shoulders, trying not to hold him too tightly in fear of making the wounds hurt more.

 

 

“Hold these,” came the demand as Marco was handed a strip of condoms. Accepting them, he glanced around their packages, checking to make sure it wasn’t expired. They of course weren’t, but he had made a habit of checking every time, just in case.

 

The sound of the lube bottle cap jolted him, sending a bolt of excitement through his veins. Just the sound of it was enough to make his breath hitch. Hearing so, Jean gave a breathless laugh, “Enthusiastic, are we? Enthousiaste pour _ma bite_?”

 

With a groan, Marco couldn’t help arching his back to stop himself from burrowing his nails into Jean’s skin again. “M-Maybe… A little.”

 

“Un _peu_?” Questioned Jean with raised eyebrows. Shaking his head, he drizzled some lube on his fingers and handed the bottle to Marco with a grin. Jean always seemed to be so pleased and happy when they were going to have sex. It was one of the few times he was so smiley. “Vous tremblez comme vous avez _besoin_ de mon sexe.”

 

True to Jean’s words, Marco shuddered at the words, despite only knowing a few of them. Closing his eyes, he waited for Jean to finish warming up the lube, anticipation of having his lover _inside_ of him giving him the jitters. He was a little anxious- not nervous because he knew it wouldn’t hurt, but just tired of waiting on Jean. He was so hard already…

 

Finally, he shifted a little in Jean’s lap as he felt him spread his ass. Slowly inhaling, he still jumped at the touch of room temperature lube touching his pucker, sliding along the edge, but not dipping inside. “This okay?”

 

“Y-Yeah, of course,” replied Marco, who only jerked again at the feeling of the tip of Jean’s finger leisurely pressing inside. It was such a weird angle… “Just jumpy is all.”

 

“I can see that,” he murmured back, slowly pushing against the resistance until he was up to his first knuckle. He waited a moment, two, before wiggling it around, making Marco squirm against the wall as well. Snorting quietly, he pressed further in, drawing out a soft moan from the other. He continued to just poke around with that one finger, get him adjusted to its size. Normally he wasn’t as slow or explorative, knowing just the right amount of stretching to be quick and painless.

 

Marco knew this too, “What’re you doin’?” He slurred, just a little, “C-Come on, _faster_.”

 

Sighing- somewhat sarcastically, Marco would add- Jean twisted his finger just a little more before pulling it out (and listening to Marco’s kind of disappointed groan) and sliding it back in with another finger. He did the same with those two that he did with just the first one, only thrusting more with them rather than before. Marco was still writhing, twitching every now and then, beginning to get agitated. “Why’re you goin’ so slow? You know where my prost-” he interrupted himself with a deep, sharp intake of air.

 

“ _Oui_ ,” snickered Jean as he pressed against the gland with his two fingers, proving that he was not just searching for his prostate.

 

“You’re not tryin’ to make me come on your fingers, are ya?” Marco accused, fingers wrapping even more tightly around the plastic in his hands. “‘Cause, you’re clearly missin’ somethin’.”

 

“Tais-toi,” Jean chuckled, slipping in another finger and using his free hand to give Marco a light slap on the ass, relishing in his lurch of surprise. Marco _knew_ that one. It was primarily used when they had company over and Jean wasn’t having the same fun they were.

 

“Not until you tell me what you’re doing.” he promised, cheeky words losing their meaning to an extent when he moaned at Jean’s sudden, rough thrust before he pulled out all of his fingers, wiping them on his hip.

 

With little effort at all, he swiped the strip of condoms from Marco, ripping off one of the packets and opening it, unrolling the cover. “Right now,” sassed Jean, “I’m putting a condom on each of us.” He dropped the trash on the floor, holding the rest of the packets between his teeth as he rolled one of the condoms on himself, squeezing the tip, and giving himself a couple pumps to make sure all was well. Then, he moved to Marco’s own dick with a condom for _him_ , thumbing once through the slit when he was finished. The gasp that action produced was like music and Jean couldn’t wait to hear more.

 

Dropping the condoms to the ground and not watching to see where they would flutter to, Jean poured more lube into his palm. After he was sure he had enough, he shut the bottle and promptly dropped it as well. Not waiting for it to warm up, he slathered up his length, shuddering at the coldness. Any extra he used to give Marco another few pumps, the slide making it a lot more enjoyable. Looking up at his boyfriend, Jean was a little startled to see those blown out pupils already staring back at him, pearly whites biting at his lip. “I’m ready, Daisy.”

 

Nodding, Jean inched Marco a little higher on the wall and Marco helped, spreading his fingers along the surface, watching Jean line himself up. Kissing Marco’s stomach once, he began to push himself in, listening to the small moans and gasps that would blossom with every inch he slid home, until he was fully sheathed. He took a moment to just bathe in the warmth and let Marco get adjusted, hands carefully clutching his hips, before he looked to see Marco’s expression.

 

It was a beautiful sight. There was red flush from the tips of his ears to the edges of his chest, making all the freckles above it remarkably more prominent. His teeth were biting hurriedly at his lips, which were twitching up into a smile, so any noises that he made were muffled or not there at all. He had his eyes closed, making his expression look a little more relaxed, giddy. Though, when they opened, revealing wide pupils, making the dark, dark brown looking black, too, it was like a shock to Jean’s bloodstream and without meaning to, he thrust hips.

 

Eyes widening, Marco let out a long whine, nails attempting to dig into the wall behind him. Noticing such a reaction, Jean did it again, and again, mumbling out a short praise, “S-Se sentir tellement,” he cut himself off to listen to the loud gasp his words wrung from Marco’s mouth, “ _Étiré_ antour de ma queue comme ceci.”

 

As Jean began to roll his hips harder, Marco’s moans and gasps fizzled into something else; laughter. With each slide, he would suck in a breath and let out a giggle, only getting louder, chuckles more drawn out as Jean would become rougher, making him lose his breath much quicker. Head thrown back, hands having moved to Jean’s hair instead of the wall, Marco looked entirely blissed.

 

Though Jean was still a little confused about the laughs that tumbled out of Marco’s mouth each time he fucked into him, he had to admit they were hot as hell. Jean loved his laughs all the time, meaning these were not an exception. They had a way of making Marco look even more vulnerable, especially how they would get louder, then breathier when Jean sped up, rammed into him with more force, exposing Marco’s desire to get _wrecked_. Jean truley loved it.

 

Though, Marco had his own way of making the sex for Jean more pleasant. He had learned, through trial and error- since every time the topic came up, Jean would avoid it like the plague-  that when he used his nails on the boy’s skin, Jean would jerk, often into him, and gasp like crazy. Dragging his fingers through Jean’s hair, massaging his scalp, he pressed his nails to the base of his hairline when he reached it. He felt Jean shake, both beneath him and inside of him, before he lurched forward to wrap his mouth around the silver barbells that poke from Marco’s nipples.

 

The gasping between his giggles increased at the action, at Jean’s suckling. In surprise and pleasure, Marco wretched his nails down, breaking the skin on the back of Jean’s neck. Hissing, Jean twitched a little to the side, directing his next thrust at a different angle, directly hitting Marco’s sweet spot. He squeaked, yanking his nails down the sides of Jean’s neck, not as harshly, leaving red vines instead of actual rips in the skin.

 

One hand on the side of Marco’s leg, Jean brought the other hand up to his mouth, where Marco immediately took in his fingers, moaning and laughing around them, tongue moving forward to greet them. Sucking on them and hallowing his cheeks, Marco squeezed his eyes shut and the scratching at Jean’s neck sped up, as did the throbbing of Marco’s cock against Jean’s stomach. He was close, both of them could see- or really; feel- it.

 

“Gonna come untouched?” Asked Jean with an obvious smirk in his voice as he briefly pulled away from his lover’s chest. Nodding desperately, Marco whined and Jean pulled his slicked up fingers from his mouth to swipe them across Marco’s other nipple, the cold saliva a sudden contrast to the heat from his mouth on the other one. “Then do it. _Viens pour moi_.”

 

That was all it took for Marco to arch his back, drive his nails into Jean, leaving behind angry crescents, coming with a shout of Jean’s name, long and drawn out. His legs, twisted around Jean’s waist, curled and uncurled, barely clinging to Jean’s hips. He tightened around his cock and that, along with Marco’s twitching and yell, face even more colored than before and scrunched in pleasure, brought him over the edge as well with just a few more thrusts.

 

They milked each other’s orgasm, allowing the both of them to slowly come down from each their highs. Once they were left to staring at each other and trying to control their uneven panting, Jean gently let him down and they hobbled to the couch, collapsing on the cushions.

 

They were quiet for a minute, maybe more, just letting the moment sink in, before Marco spoke up, “I can’t really feel my legs.” He laughed and Jean glanced over, realizing they were still all sweaty and kind of gross.

 

“Want me to carry you to the bath?” Jean asked, swiping up their used condoms and tying them before tossing them into the kitchen trash bin. He walked back over, stopping in front of Marco on the couch.

 

Grinning in a way Jean knew was yes, Marco slowly got to his feet, heavily leaning against the arm of the couch. Hefting him up, Jean trudged his way to their bathroom, kicking at his pile of clothes. He looked around the room, snorting at the mess in all different places. Marco followed his gaze and gave another fucked out chuckle.

 

“You’re cleaning this place up tomorrow,” declared Jean, ducking down to lay a wet kiss on Marco’s neck, right below his ear.

 

“Only if you make breakfast.” Marco countered, smiling and tilting his neck to give Jean more room for his roaming lips.

 

"I make breakfast every day," Jean reminded him, nipping softly at the spot he had kissed, “You can’t cook.”

 

Opening the door to the bathroom for Jean, Marco grinned up at him cheekily, “Deal.”

 

Eyeing him warily, Jean shrugged and dumped Marco on the counter before going to start up the bath, reaching into their cabinets for their towels. He gave Marco a peck on the forehead and allowed him to lead him into a slow, sloppy kiss. They whispered their “I love you”s and nuzzled noses for a while as they waited for the water to heat up.

 

With another kiss, Marco gently bit on Jean’s bottom lip, murmuring softly, “But who’s doin’ laundry?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations, in order from their appearance in here:  
> "Look at me, little black licorice."  
> "So I could make the sex a little more exciting- for you."  
> "Only you, but that'll have to wait."  
> "Take off that ugly shirt, ... It hurts my eyes."  
> "...hot...fuck you against this wall."  
> "...French."  
> a French pet name, like sweetheart  
> "...hot...broken...fingers."  
> "Wouldn't it be hot to press you against the wall? To watch you squirm and grab at the wall, unable to find purchase? It'd be real sexy to hear you moan when I tell you how hot you were as I slammed into you."  
> "Can I fuck your face? ... C-Can I slide my dick down your throat?"  
> "... fuck, Christ..."  
> ".... the wall?"  
> "Stand up,"  
> "Destroying your ass..."  
> "Enthusiastic for my cock?"  
> "A little?"  
> "You shiver like you need my cock."  
> "Yes, I do."  
> "Shut up."  
> "F-Feel so good, ... Stretched around my cock like this."  
> "Come for me."
> 
> ALSO: 'Nilla wrote some of the headcanons, too. So, if you would like to read them (they're really, really good), I put them down here for you.
> 
> Shiver For Me \- Thigh-sensitive Marco  
> ShameLess Laughter \- Laughing while he's fucked senseless Marco
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'm just gonna crawl into a hole for the next week after I make sure the links work.  
> EDIT: Since the links won't work, I'll put them in a comment.  
> Hope you enjoy.


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